Sherlolly Celebrations 2020
by ValeriaAnne
Summary: 7 celebrations for 7 days of "Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2020"
1. Sharing a Bed

**Note:** Pardon any mistakes you may find. I confess I took a huge liberty with Victorian English, but the truth is, I have a very limited experience with Victorian English and I tried to make some research before publishing. Again, all the mistakes are completely mine.

* * *

Day 1: **"There's only one bed?!"**. Victorian Sherlolly.

* * *

"**There's only one bed?!**" Molly exclaimed, her voice mortified.

"Yes?" Sherlock replied nonchalantly.

"But that's not…..appropriate." the lady continued, looking suspiciously at the empty bed that occupied a big space of their shared chamber.

"What is the matter, Dr. Hooper?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

Molly turned her head abruptly to glare at him, "The matter is that you, Mr. Holmes, have insisted I join you in the escapade to catch this murderer in Sussex, but you did not care much to arrange proper accommodations."

"It was a last-minute trip." Sherlock shrugged.

"Your brother is literally the British Government."

"And?"

"And he could have arranged for us to have two separate bedchambers other than being crammed together in one chamber".

Sherlock shot her an amusing look.

"..With ONE BED!"

"Well, pardon me if I couldn't tell the receptionist that you are in fact Dr. Margaret Hooper, not Dr. Matthew Hooper, and that you are indeed a lady, not a gentleman, which means we cannot share the same chamber, let alone the same bed."

"You could have asked for two separate bedchambers without indulging the gentleman in the details of my own identity." Molly argued, her hands on her hips, still wearing the man-attire she always wore when she was disguised as Dr. Matthew Hooper, the prestigious Pathologist of Saint Bartholomew Hospital in London.

"Like I said, it was a last-minute trip and this was the only chamber left."

"Then you shouldn't have invited me." Molly shouted.

"You are right. Maybe I should not!'" Sherlock shouted back.

They both breathed heavily, and stared at each other.

"You are taking the couch." Molly finally broke the silence.

"Of course not." Sherlock huffed, "It is small and I am tall."

"Fine. I shall take the couch." Molly uttered, glancing at the couch and actually seeing Sherlock's point.

_It is small and will not fit him._

"NO!" Sherlock responded instantly. He regained his composure by clearing his throat, "I mean, it looks uncomfortable."

"It is indeed less uncomfortable than sharing a bed with a sir."

Sherlock bit his lower lip nervously, "The bed is wide, we can…"

"Don't you dare complete that line of thought." Molly interrupted firmly.

"Come on, Dr. Hooper. You are a woman of science." Molly arched an eyebrow questionably, and Sherlock couldn't deny that the sight was endearing; Molly in men's attire, a fake moustache, but talking using her feminine voice was a sight to behold.

"We can just put a barrier between us; a pillow or something." Sherlock continued, pointing to the bed.

"I promise I shall be a total gentleman." Sherlock continued teasingly, though his voice and smile were gentle.

Molly huffed, "You should have worked on that when you were booking our accommodations."

Sherlock's smile dropped and he closed his eyes in exasperation, "Oh, Dear Lord!"

Molly raised her hands in a placating manner, "Fine, fine." Sherlock opened his eyes and watched her, waiting for what the lady would say next. Molly took a deep breath and continued, "But on one condition."

Sherlock stood still waiting for the condition.

"I will lock you in the bathroom until I change and get under the covers."

"Excuse me?" Sherlock demanded, taken aback.

"You heard me." Molly shrugged then continued, "I will not sleep in this attire and it is not appropriate for you to see me in my….night robes."

Sherlock tilted his head.

"My feminine night robes." Molly explained, her cheeks getting redder. Suddenly, she felt embarrassed that she couldn't keep eye contact with him. SO, instead, her eyes landed on her suitcase before declaring softly, "I did not know I will be sharing a chamber with…anyone else, so, I brought my normal night robes."

Sherlock's eyes followed hers, eyeing her suitcase that lied on the wooden floor next to his, before quietly murmuring, understanding the source of her distress, "Alright." He picked his suitcase, then turned around, heading to the bathroom and closing the door behind him. A few moments later, he heard the sound of a key locking the door from the outside. He took a deep breath and whispered, "Whatever helps this night end faster."

* * *

And that's how Sherlock found himself, thirty minutes later, still locked in the adjoint bathroom, along with his suitcase. He has already changed into his silk pyjamas and his silk robe-de-chambre, and was now leaning against the sink, waiting for her to announce that the chamber was clear for him to step in.

Sherlock tapped his fingertips angrily against the sink, his patience growing thin by the second. When he could stand no longer, he walked to the locked door and shouted, "What in God's name are you doing? It has been over thirty minutes."

"I am almost finished." Came Molly's muffled voice through the think wooden door.

Less than a minute later, Sherlock heard the key unlocking the door, followed by Molly's hurried voice, "Don't come out until I tell you."

Sherlock rubbed his eyes tiredly, hoping to end this dilemma and head to bed for some much-needed rest. Before dwelling on whether it was a right idea to bring Dr. Hooper with him on such a dangerous adventure, he heard her voice again, "You can come out now."

Sherlock picked up his suitcase, then quietly opened the bathroom door and walked to the chamber. His eyes instantly landed on the bed, where Molly was huddled under the thick covers, only her little brown head was shown, and her brown eyes were staring at him widely, like she was watching and waiting for his next move. Sherlock's eyes next landed on the stack of pillows that were placed methodically in the middle of the bed, dividing it into two separate sleep territories.

Sherlock took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly before saying quietly, "Alright then." He placed his suitcase on the floor, and without another word, he took off his silk robe-de-chambre, noticing how Molly quickly averted her eyes from his form, then he placed the soft fabric at the near-by armchair, before quietly slipping under the covers, praying for all the Gods he never believed in to bless them with a peaceful night without any more tension.

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later and both Sherlock and Molly were still staring at the ceiling. The tension was so thick they could slice it with a knife.

It was Sherlock who broke the insufferable silence first, "I think I should take the couch."

Molly's eyes snapped to meet his and said quietly yet firmly, "No, it is alright."

"You are tense." Sherlock stated.

"We both are. Don't deny it." Molly argued softly.

Sherlock swallowed heavily and turned on his side to face her, still keeping the distance, "I apologize, Molly. I honestly didn't mean to cause you any discomfort. It was in earnest a last-minute trip and this was the only room available."

"It's alright. I understand." Molly said delicately.

"No, it is not. You think I am using the fact that I know your real identity in order to tease you." Sherlock replied, frowning and suddenly feeling angry with himself for not planning thoroughly, and for making her doubt his good intentions.

"No, that's not true." Molly repeated firmly, willing him to understand that she knew the truth, despite the uncomfortable position they were in. "The truth is, I have never shared a room with a stranger, let alone a strange man. To the outside world, I am a man, yes. But, I am actually a woman," then she stared into in the eyes before adding, "a virtuous woman, if I might add."

"You don't. I mean you don't need to explain." Sherlock replied quickly. He didn't want her to think that he thought less of her for accepting to share a bed with him.

"You are an honourable woman, Molly Hooper. And I know you might not believe me, but I respect you beyond your imagination. Everything you do, everything you fight for, they fascinate me. You fascinate me, Molly Hooper, and nothing in the whole world will make me think less of you." Sherlock said in a gentle voice.

Molly blinked a few times before asking tentatively, "Do you mean those words?"

"Yes." Sherlock replied without hesitation.

His quick yet honest answer drew a smile on her face, "Well, your words have made me very glad. Thank you for thinking highly of me."

"You are welcome." Sherlock said, with a smile matching her own.

"Well, I think it is time for us to get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow." Molly finally said, ending their short but dear moment of truth, and although the room was almost dark, Sherlock could swear he saw Molly wink at him.

"The game is afoot, Mr. Holmes."

And without waiting for his reply, she turned around, facing the window, and willed herself to get some sleep before the beginning of the new day, and urging the butterflies in her stomach to get some rest, too.

For five whole minutes, Sherlock just gazed at the back of Molly's brown head, occasionally fighting the urge to extend his arm and touch her hair that she braided for bed. Finally, he closed his eyes, taking Molly's advice. Before fully drifting to sleep, he murmured, "Have a good night, Molly." And though it was the first time he called her with her maiden name, and though he knew was asleep by now, he silently hoped she could hear him.


	2. Undercover Lovers

**Day 2: Fake Dating/Undercover as lovers. Victorian Sherlolly. Sequel to Day 1**.

* * *

"And here I am, thinking we have established a respectful relationship and a common understanding last night." Molly said, feeling annoyed. She was taking a walk with Sherlock across the lake near their hotel in Sussex after breakfast, and she was beyond disappointed.

"Why would you say such a horrible thing? We have a respectful relationship." Sherlock commented, still looking ahead.

"Yet, here you are, Mr. Holmes, asking me to pretend to be the lady you are courting." Molly said in a low voice, in order not to attract the unwanted attention of anyone around them; anyone who might notice the short gentleman with the men's attire and the feminine voice.

"Dr. Hooper, this is an essential part of the investigation." Sherlock said, matter-of-factly, still walking beside his shorter companion.

When she was sure she would not receive any coherent reply or explanation from him, Molly stopped walking abruptly and gritted her teeth, "Please do enlighten me."

Likewise, Sherlock stopped walking and turned to face _Dr. Matthew Hooper_. He stared down at his companion and narrowed his eyes slightly, before saying, "The suspect we are chasing is attending the ceremony held by Lord Bennett tomorrow evening in his mansion."

"So?" Molly shrugged.

"So, I cannot go by myself. I need you as a distraction." Sherlock explained.

"I beg your pardon?" Molly cried, then quickly composed herself, looking around to make sure no one was near enough to hear her.

Silently, Sherlock's eyes followed hers and once he made sure no one was near them, he continued in a gentler voice, "I did not mean this in an ill manner, pardon me. But, the truth is, a man is always less suspicious if accompanied by a lady."

"I could accompany you as Dr. Matthew Hooper." Molly argued.

"That is even more suspicious." Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, pouting his lips in disdain, then he continued calmly, "That is why I have arranged for new accommodations in another hotel. Now each one of us has their own bedchamber and you can simply use you real name; Miss Margaret Harlan."

"Miss?" Molly repeated, confusion invading her face.

Sherlock smiled teasingly, though his smile was gentle, "Well, we cannot inform the world that you are indeed a doctor, let alone a pathologist."

Molly's first instinct was to take Sherlock's words as an offense, but a moment later she understood that he was only teasing her, and not in an unkind way. She raised one eyebrow before asking, "And how do you suggest we follow this insane plan of yours, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock raised his arm slightly, asking Molly to resume walking with him, "We will say that we have met in our new hotel for the first time over breakfast. I have asked you to accompany me to the ceremony and you have kindly agreed, my lady."

"And how would you disguise yourself, Mr. Holmes? You are quite famous."

"Not as famous as you imagine, my dear lady. Besides, I will introduce myself by my real name and I might do some facial disguise." Sherlock teased, glancing at her fake moustache.

"Your real name?" Molly stopped in her tracks, staring at him.

"Yes. William." Sherlock shrugged.

"Your real name is William?" Molly asked, surprise written all over her face.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, if you are curious. I have booked our chambers by the name of William Scott, which is legal, in case you were wondering, and Margaret Harlan, using your mother's maiden name as an extra precaution."

Molly swallowed heavily then murmured, "I was not wondering". She raised her head to look at him, and to her utter shock, she found him staring at her, waiting for her reply. He actually looked nervous, biting his lower lip, as if he was afraid she would refuse his plan and their shared adventure altogether.

Without giving it any more thought, Molly steadily said, "Alright, then. I must have lost my sanity by agreeing to this plan, but, unfortunately, I cannot find another way to get closer to our suspect."

Sherlock's face broke into a huge relieved smile. His smile was so wide that Molly found herself smiling involuntarily. A few moments passed before a sudden thought crossed her mind.

"One moment, please. How did you secure an invitation to this function?"

"You already know the answer, my dear lady." Sherlock smirked.

"THE British Government, I suppose?" Molly quirked an eyebrow, already knowing the answer.

"You suppose right."

"And what kind of disguise do you actually plan to use?"

"That will be my surprise for tonight." Sherlock winked.

And that was how Miss Margaret Harlan found herself taking the extended hand of Mr. William Scott, who was helping her out of their carriage that took them to the gates of Lord Bennett's mansion.

"You truly believe this disguise is going to be beneficial?" Molly whispered, looking at his curled hair.

"Yes, I do. Now focus, my dear lady. The game is afoot." Sherlock said, gently hooking Molly's left arm in his right arm.

"Are you ready, Miss Harlan?" Sherlock gazed at her, waiting for her answer.

"How did you know my mother's maiden name?"

"I know a lot of things about you, my dear lady. And I wish to know more." Sherlock smiled tenderly, then he gently patted her left hand that was now resting against his right arm and he repeated, "Now, are you ready?"

"Yes, Mr. Scott. I am ready." Molly responded, hoping her voice was not trembling like her left arm now was.

Confidently, they walked the long cobbled path to the mansion's wooden door, walking through the main entrance. Molly felt overwhelmed by everything and everyone around her, until the voice of the butler cut thought her haze, "Mister William Scott and Lady Margaret Harlan, from London."


	3. Trapped Together

**Day 3: Locked in a room/trapped in a small space (maybe both?!)**

**Victorian Sherlolly. Sequel to Day 2 (which was sequel to Day 1)**

* * *

"Oh, for the love of everything HOLY!" Molly cried.

"SHHH!" Sherlock demanded.

"How dare you…."

"Stop talking before you get us caught!" Sherlock whispered angrily. He put his arm around Molly's waist and practically dragged her across the long corridor after he talked Molly into going after Mr. Clayden, their suspect, who has left through this corridor in a suspicious manner, like he was the owner of the mansion, not a guest.

"_We can't just roam around the mansion, Mr. Holmes. We are guests."_

"_Wrong. We are investigators, and this man is a murder suspect. We need to follow him. His presence here is not a coincidence. He is here for a reason. Maybe Lord Bennett is the next target! We need to act quickly."_

And that was how Molly found herself following Sherlock, who was following Mr. Clayden in this labyrinth of corridors. One moment they were the hunters, and now they were the hunted, as several voices started getting closer to where they stood and it was time to find a good hiding place before they were caught roaming around their host's house without permission.

"Take your hand off me." Molly hissed angrily.

"STOP TALKING, WOMAN!" Sherlock whispered, gritting his teeth. Without giving it another thought, he opened the first door they met and pushed Molly through it, before following her and closing the door behind them as quickly and quietly as possible.

Sherlock turned to look at his companion, and she was _fuming_. If looks could kill, Sherlock would be a puddle of ash on the mahogany floor in one moment.

Sherlock quickly scanned the room with his eyes; it was a study, with a large wooden desk, several book shelves and two massive wooden cupboards at both sides of the glass window that was facing the room's door.

"Jesus, woman, you are louder than a train." Sherlock murmured, still looking around the room for any evidence

"We are locked in a room. Together." Molly whispered.

"So?"

"SO?!"

Suddenly, they both heard heavy footsteps walking down the corridor, and with every passing moment, the footsteps were getting closer.

"Oh, no!" Molly muttered nervously.

"Hurry." Sherlock whispered, as he took her arm and ushered her towards one of the cupboards.

"What?"

Sherlock didn't answer. He opened the cupboard, but it was already full with several shelves that were stacked with books, wooden boxes and photo frames.

"God damn it!"

"Mr. Holmes!"

Sherlock pulled Molly with him to the other cupboard quickly, which was luckily empty.

"Into the cupboard."

"Have you lost your mind, Mr. Holmes?!"

"Into the cupboard. NOW!"

He pushed her inside then followed her and closed it behind them. In the darkness of the small confinement, no sound was heard except their heavy breathing, along with the footsteps that seemed to have stopped just outside the room's door.

"Now what?" Molly asked in a very low voice.

Sherlock quickly put his hand on her mouth.

Several moments passed before the room's door was open and two sets of feet stepped inside. Molly held her breath, while Sherlock kept his hand on her mouth. Without even thinking about it, Sherlock extended his other hand to touch Molly's wrist in his own way to make her feel safer; he understood that while Molly was a brave woman who challenged the world every single day by pretending to be a man in order to pursue her dreams, chasing murder suspects wasn't her cup of tea. An unfamiliar yet welcome feel of protectiveness towards Molly washed over Sherlock, offering him another motive to chase this criminal and put him behind bars.

Sherlock strained his ears to listen to what the people across the room were saying. To both Molly and Sherlock's utter shock, one of the voices was for Mr. Clayden, the suspect they were chasing, and the other voice was for Lord Bennett, the host and the owner of the mansion.

"How could you do such a foolish thing, coming here unannounced to my house?" Lord Bennett's voice echoed.

"I made sure no one followed me." Mr. Clayden replied.

"How could you be sure? You said yourself that that detective, Holmes, was already investigating you back in London."

"Well, that was how it was in London, and I was able to fool him and come to Sussex. The moron still believes I am resident in my own house in London."

"How could you be sure?" Lord Bennett repeated angrily.

"Because no one is that clever, Lord Bennett. Remember that we are a part of an organization, one wheel in a huge machine. He can't infiltrate us, this Holmes detective. He simply doesn't have the means."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes angrily.

"But Holmes suspecting you to be the murderer of Mr. & Mrs. Alston is proof enough that he is closer than we wish him to be."

"Even if that is true, he is only investigating a murder. He doesn't know our real purpose. He doesn't know the whole truth."

Despite the darkness in the cupboard, Sherlock and Molly's eyes were drawn to each other, both absorbing the words they were hearing, knowing that they were facing something bigger than what they thought at the beginning.

"I should go back to my guests." They heard Bennett saying to Clayden.

"Of course. Unwanted attention is nothing we need now." Clayden commented.

Heavy footsteps retreated across the room. The door was open, and both men walked outside the room before the door was closed. Sherlock and Molly waited for a minute to make sure no one was coming back to the room before Sherlock gently removed his hand from Molly's mouth, then he cracked open the cupboard's door. Sherlock stepped outside the cupboard then helped Molly get out before closing it. They stood still in front of the cupboard, staring at each other and breathing heavily. They didn't know whether it was because of the small space they were trapped into, the new information they have discovered about their case, or simply because they have spent the last ten minutes physically close to each other like never before.

"Molly?" Sherlock gently said.

"Yes?" Molly replied softly.

"I…." Sherlock didn't know what to say. Instead, he swallowed heavily, then extended his right hand to Molly. "Let's get out of here."

Molly nodded silently before slipping her hand into his.

* * *

The following two hours passed agonizingly slowly, both Sherlock and Molly wishing to leave as soon as they could but without drawing any attention. Therefore, they opted to stay for two more hours exchanging pleasantries and socializing with the other guests. After two hours, Molly pretended to have a migraine and Sherlock excused both of them, saying that he needed to escort the lady back to her hotel room to get some rest.

After saying goodbye to the host and several other guests, Molly and Sherlock couldn't have been happier to take the carriage back to the hotel.

Half the way back to the hotel, Sherlock cut the heavy silence looming over the carriage, "I apologize."

"What for, Mr. Holmes?" Molly asked quietly.

"For asking you to accompany me on the trip. It is turning out to be more dangerous that I have anticipated." Sherlock answered, regret etched on his face.

"You have just said it; you simply asked and I agreed." Molly commented calmly.

"But, I insisted." Sherlock argued.

"Mr. Holmes, I am an adult, who can take her own decisions. Like I said, you asked and I accepted."

Sherlock nodded silently.

Two minutes later, Sherlock continued, "I apologize again."

"What for?" Molly asked again, this time with a smile on her face.

"For…..that situation, back in the cupboard." Sherlock said nervously.

"I did not mean for us to be trapped together inside such a small space, or even…." Sherlock abruptly stopped talking, averting his eyes, trying to memorize the feeling of Molly's soft lips against his fingers, but feeling guilty for thinking of her that way when she has trusted him enough to join him on this insane adventure.

"It is alright, Mr. Holmes. I understood all the risks when I decided to join you on your adventure."

"Our." Sherlock corrected her gently.

"Mm?"

"Our adventure. It has been ours since you have accepted my offer."

"I thought you didn't like sharing, Mr. Holmes." Molly smiled teasingly.

"With you, I might be open to change my mind." Sherlock said with a matching smile on his face.

* * *

**I plan to write more one chapter to finish this story.**


	4. My Knight in Shining Belstaff

**Day 4: "This person won't stop flirting with me. Would you pretend to know me?"**

**Modern Sherlolly. One-shot.**

**Note: This is a one-shot, and not related to the previous Victorian Sherlolly story; I plan to write one more chapter to finish that story.**

* * *

"This pathologist had better be good." Sherlock said over his mobile phone, walking down the street.

"Well, since you scared off the last one, I am not sure you are in a position to hope." Lestrade replied.

"I am merely asking for a competitive pathologist to work with. Is that too much to ask?" Sherlock asked sharply.

"With you? Anything you ask for is too much." Greg laughed through the phone.

Sherlock huffed but didn't reply.

"Anyway, you will be meeting her tomorrow at 11 a.m. Don't be late." Greg continued.

"I am never late." Sherlock ended the call before he rounded the corner, heading to meet a member of his homeless network.

Glancing at his watch to check the time, his peripheral vision caught a glimpse of a young woman with a long brown ponytail before she bumped into him, fisted the lapels of his Belstaff then kissed him. It was less of a kiss and more of lips smashing together. It lasted for two seconds before she stepped back, staring widely at him.

"This person won't stop flirting with me. Would you pretend to know me?" the mysterious woman whispered urgently. Her breathing was labored and her eyes were worried, staring at him and possibly berating herself for what she just did. In his peripheral vision, Sherlock could see a man nearly his age, with brown hair and eyes, staring right at the young woman in confusion, with both his fists clenched.

In a moment, Sherlock's confused look turned into a charming one with a sweet smile, before leaning down to capture her lips in a _real_ kiss that lasted longer than the first.

When the kiss ended, Sherlock wrapped his arms around the mysterious woman's waist, before saying loud enough for the man standing near them to hear but not loud enough to sound fake, "Oh, my love, where have you been? I was getting worried."

"Sorry, I am late, darling." Molly smiled, though her smile was nervous.

"You don't look alright. Is something wrong?" Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows.

Sherlock turned his eyes to the intruder, pretending to notice him for the first time, "Who are you?"

"I am… I am... my name is…."

"What are you staring at?" Sherlock demanded, not appreciating the intrusion to the special moment with _his woman_.

Molly turned her head, then cleared her throat before saying, "Hey, darling, this is Jonathan. He is my co-worker. He works at Barts." She emphasized the last word, letting her savior know a little bit of info in order to seem legit.

"I was just making sure she went home safe." Jonathan hastily explained, already taking a step back from the menacing tall man who was staring at him with eyes like daggers.

"Really? And how exactly did you do that? By stalking her?" Sherlock asked coldly, tightening his hold on Molly's waist.

Jonathan's eyes widened dramatically, suddenly feeling scared of Sherlock, "What? Stalking? No, that's not…."

Sherlock interrupted harshly, "Because Barts is a 10 minutes' walk from where we stand and here you are, following my fiancée."

"Fiancée?" Jonathan asked dumbly, not believing what he just heard.

Molly turned her head to stare wide-eyed at Sherlock.

_Fiancée?_! _Oh, my God. Did I just get rid of one stalker to fall in the hands of a psycho?_

Sherlock tightened his hold on her again, but in a gentler way, hoping she understood what he meant and that she wouldn't push him away and make a scene.

In an instant, Molly's face broke into a sweet smile and she turned to face Jonathan.

"Well, Jonathan, you can leave now. No need to make sure I get home safely anymore." Molly said, narrowing her eyes slightly, and hoping Jonathan got the message.

"_That is a smart woman", Sherlock thought._

In a moment, Jonathan turned around and walked quickly the other way, as if running away. As soon as he disappeared, Sherlock stepped away from Molly and said, "I am sorry about the fiancée thing. I just blurted it out. I just wanted to make sure he won't bother you again."

"Yes, it's okay. I understand." Molly said softly, staring at her savior for a few moments, before she mentally slapped herself for staring at him like a teenager. She cleared her throat and giggled nervously, "Though it will be a hard mission when the word spreads at work that I am engaged when I have no fiancé to show off."

"Mm. Quite the issue indeed." Sherlock said, his brows furrowed in deep thought. "Maybe we should continue this little plot for a little while, then."

"Excuse me?" Molly took a step back. She was in no need to have another stalker, even if he was as handsome as that gorgeous man who just stepped in to help her.

"You said you worked at Barts, right?" Sherlock continued.

"Yes." Molly answered suspiciously, debating whether she should regret giving this stranger a piece of personal info or not.

"Well, I will be visiting Barts regularly for the foreseeable future, as a part of my work. I am sure we will meet there. Seeing us together will definitely put an end to this stalker's futile efforts, that's in case he hasn't already understood the message today."

"But..."

"And if not, I am happy to simply punch him in the face." Sherlock shrugged.

"What?"

Sherlock winked at her, and she couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face.

"Well, then." Molly murmured, then she asked, "Are you a doctor?"

"No. A consulting detective."

"And what will you be doing with Barts?"

"I am working with the police, investigating homicides."

"I see."

"You?" Sherlock asked, suddenly interested in proving whether his deductions of this young woman were right or wrong.

"I…. I am a pathologist." Molly replied a little shyly.

"A pathologist?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. _My deductions were right._

"Yes, you know the doctor that…." Molly explained.

"I know what a pathologist is." Sherlock interrupted her sharply.

"Oh, okay." Molly murmured, feeling disappointed.

Feeling her discomfort, "I am…sorry. I didn't mean to…shout."

"Okay." Molly shrugged.

They stood in silence for a few moments, and just before Molly excused herself to leave, Sherlock suddenly asked, "Do you happen to know detective Lestrade?"

"Yes. Are you working with him?" Molly inquired, hoping that it meant she would get to work with this handsome man, but still feeling confused at this whole situation.

A knowing smile invaded Sherlock's face before he replied, "Yes. The world indeed is a smaller place these days."


	5. You are my Endgame

**Day 5: Enemies to Friends to Lovers.**

* * *

"But, mother, it is not fair." 5-year-old Sherlock whined.

"William, go and apologize to Molly." Violet Holmes repeated sternly. She was sitting in the office of the school's principal, with her husband, her younger son, 5-year-old Molly, both the young girl's parents and Mrs. Patterson, the children's teacher.

Reluctantly, Sherlock took a few steps towards his classmate and nemesis, Molly Hooper, before murmuring in a low voice, "I am sorry."

"Raise your voice, son." Mr. Holmes urged him.

"I am sorry." Sherlock repeated, gritting his teeth, and not meeting Molly's eyes.

"Okay." Molly replied, smiling softly at him.

"Good, now that it is settled, can you please accompany the children to class, Mrs. Patterson?" the principal said calmly.

"Of course." Mrs. Patterson replied, standing up to take the children's little hands in hers and walk them back to their class.

The short walk to the class was silent, but as soon as both children took their seats, Molly turned to Sherlock and quietly said, "I am sorry Sherlock for telling Mrs. Patterson, but you really hurt me when you pushed me to the ground. See?" Molly lifted the hem of her yellow dress, revealing the red scrapes on her right knee.

"I said I am sorry." Sherlock clenched his fists, still not meeting her eyes.

Molly ignored his tone before saying sweetly, "We can be friends."

"I don't want to be friends with you." Sherlock replied sharply, before opening his book to start reading.

* * *

**Five years later:**

"Now, who is going to solve this problem?" Mr. Adams, the math teacher, asked his students.

Both Molly and Sherlock raised their hands eagerly.

"Yes, Molly? Why don't you come over here and show us how to solve this problem?"

Shyly, Molly got up and walked to the blackboard. She picked the chalk pen from Mr. Adams and started scribbling on the board. Thirty seconds later, she turned with a smile and silently handed the chalk pen to Mr. Adams.

"Excellent, Molly. This is the right answer." Mr. Adams beamed at her.

Molly smiled shyly, then returned to her desk. As she sat down, she glanced at Sherlock, whose desk was next to hers. She smiled sweetly at him, but her smile dropped when he scowled at her.

After the end of the math period, Molly turned to Sherlock and asked him, "Is something wrong, Sherlock?"

"Everything is wrong." Sherlock murmured with a deep frown on his face.

"But why?"

Sherlock suddenly turned to face her, "Because you are the only other kid in class who knows all the answers and every time you raise your hand I just want to break something. You are totally insufferable with your adorable face and cute ponytail and I hate it!"

"But…"

"And they all like you and no one likes me. Why don't they like me? I am smart and cute, too."

"I like you." Molly said quickly.

Sherlock scowled at her and said nothing.

* * *

**Six years later:**

"It is the prom, Molly. You have to go." Mena, Molly's friend, said.

"I can't. My mum is in hospital. I need to stay by her side." Molly replied tiredly.

"But it is only for a few hours. Your dad will be staying with her." Mena insisted.

"I don't know." Molly bit her lower lip, wanting to join her friends but still wanting to stay by her mother's side.

**One week later:**

"Molls, get the door, please." Molly's father called from the kitchen.

"Okay, dad." Molly called back.

Molly went to open the front door, and to her surprise, her friend/enemy, Sherlock Holmes, was standing in front of her, looking as handsome as ever, in a black suit.

"Hello, Molly." Sherlock greeted her politely.

"Hello, Sherlock." Molly replied automatically.

Sherlock scanned her form quickly, then he said, "I see I have come early. Do you still need time to get ready?"

"Get ready for what?"

"For the prom. I have asked your father to take you to the prom and he agreed."

Molly turned her head abruptly to stare at her father who just came out of the kitchen to stand behind her. She watched him in confusion before turning her head to look at Sherlock.

"But, we were just leaving to the hospital."

Mr. Hooper put his hands on his daughter's shoulders and said in a gentle voice, "It is alright, Molls. Go enjoy some time with your friends. Your mum and I will be fine."

Molly stared at Sherlock wide-eyed, still not believing that he was actually at her doorstep, asking to take her to the prom, and that he actually was respectful enough to ask for her father's permission first.

"But I didn't buy a prom dress." Molly argued weakly.

Mr. Hooper tightened his hold on his daughter's shoulders affectionately, "Remember that dress you bought a few months ago with your mum? I think it is time you let it out of the closet."

"But, dad…" Molly murmured, turning her eyes to glance at her father.

"Your mum would want you to enjoy your time. It is her wish, Molls." Mr. Hooper smiled.

Molly glimpsed at Sherlock who was, uncharacteristically, standing patiently and waiting for her reply.

"Can you wait for me inside, Sherlock? I won't take long." Molly finally said to Sherlock, a wide smile on her face.

**Two months later (the funeral of Molly's mother):**

"It gets better." Sherlock's voice invaded the haze of her mind.

"How do you know that? Have you travelled into my future and seen how much better it gets?"

"No bu-"

"Have you lost someone close to you before?" Molly continued angrily.

"Actually…."

"I didn't think so. You have no idea, so please, don't tell me it gets better." Molly cried, before she turned around and walked out of the cemetery.

* * *

**Two years later:**

"For God's sake, Sherlock. Stop moving my things around." Molly shouted.

"I am organizing them." Sherlock stated, while lying on his bed and reading a book about ash.

"I didn't ask you to."

"Well, it is my room." Sherlock shrugged.

"It is our room, you idiot. Our shared dorm room. So stop touching my things or your things may start disappearing magically."

Sherlock put aside his book then turned to his roommate, "Is that a threat, Molly Hooper?"

"It is merely a warning" Molly replied, raising her eyebrow in defiance. Then, she turned around and started rummaging through her desk. "Where did you put my phone charger?"

When she received no answer, Molly turned to stare at him, putting her hands on her hips, "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, where is my phone charger?"

"On that shelf." Sherlock replied, pointing to one shelf above her desk.

"And why in God's name did you put my phone charger, which I use daily, in case you haven't noticed, on the highest shelf above my desk?" Molly gritted her teeth furiously.

Sherlock smirked and said nothing.

Molly huffed loudly, "You are completely incapable of being a decent human being for more than five seconds. You keep moving my things to high shelfs because you know I can't reach them and your smirk every time you do it is so annoying. Damn it, Sherlock."

"I will stop when you promise me."

"Promise you what?" Molly burrowed her brows in confusion.

"That you will not go out with Moriarty anymore." Sherlock said calmly.

"This is none of your business." Molly shouted.

Sherlock shrugged, "Then I will keep doing what I am doing."

"AHHHHHHH!" Molly groaned loudly before she smacked Sherlock's head with her pillow.

**Three days later:**

"This dress is awful." Sherlock commented.

"You are awful." Molly replied, not wanting him to ruin her mood.

Sherlock stood up from his bed and walked to where Molly stood in front of the mirror, "Molly, seriously, don't go out with him. He is not right for you."

"Then who is?" Molly asked, gazing at him in the mirror. She saw Sherlock swallow visibly before averting his eyes.

Molly smirked sadly, "That's what I thought. See you in a few hours."

**Three hours later:**

"See, that's why I warned you not to go out with him." Sherlock chided Molly.

"Please, just stop talking." Molly pleaded, holding her head with both her hands dejectedly.

"I warned you and you didn't listen. Now look what hap—".

Molly stood up and pointed to Sherlock angrily, "What are you doing in my life, Sherlock? Why do you even bother who I go out with? Because sometimes I feel like the only purpose of your life is to make my life a living hell. I have known you for as long as I can remember and almost every memory of you is accompanied with something horrible or embarrassing. So can you please stop saying horrible things about my love life and my clothes and my hair and even my handwriting?"

"But I was merely…." Sherlock argued weakly, not prepared to Molly's outburst.

"God, I hate you!" Molly screamed.

Sherlock took a step back as if Molly has just slapped him. He looked at his feet and muttered in a low voice, "Well, I don't."

Several moments passed in silence, before Molly whispered, "I'm sorry, can we just pretend I never said that?"

**Two weeks later:**

"I don't want to feel that way." Sherlock pouted while sitting with his friend, John Watson, in the campus cafeteria.

"Why won't you just admit that you care about her?" John asked Sherlock.

"Because, if I don't care, she can't hurt me."

"Molly would never hurt you, you know that." John commented.

"Then what if I hurt her?" Sherlock replied sharply.

* * *

**Two years later (The first day after Sherlock's graduation):**

"I know you are scared." Molly's voice suddenly filled Sherlock ears. He was sitting under his favourite tree in the garden of the campus.

"You know nothing about me." Sherlock replied coldly, closing his eyes tightly.

Molly kneeled beside him on the grass, "Oh, but I do. I know you want adventure, that's why you're sitting here with this piece of paper in your hands that says _'I want to be a consulting detective'_. You think I don't know?" Sherlock's eyes snapped open to watch Molly, the girl who turned his life upside down.

Molly explained with a smile, "I have seen you write those words on that same pale yellow paper when we were 10 years old, back at school. You want to rebel against everyone and everything that your mind can't accept. You want mystery in your life…and maybe even a little danger."

Molly touched his hand lightly before continuing, "And I am sure you will get everything you want."

"Why would you think that?" Sherlock asked breathily.

"Because though you are not an angel, you always fight on their side."

* * *

**Ten years later (Barts Hospital):**

"Ah, Molly. You brought my coffee." Sherlock declared cheerfully.

"Yeah, here." Molly handed him his coffee; _black, two sugars._

"What happened to the lipstick?" Sherlock suddenly asked, frowning at her lips.

"It wasn't working for me."

Sherlock pouted and turned to his favourite lab chair, "Oh, I think it was a big improvement. Your mouth is so small now."

Molly closed her eyes for two seconds, before she silently left the lab, whispering to herself, "I don't know why I bother."

* * *

**Five years later (The next morning after Sherrinford):**

"I told you on the phone to leave me alone." Molly hissed at the tall man who just let himself inside her home without permission for the millionth time.

"I know you did." Sherlock replied quietly.

"Then why the hell are you here?" Molly yelled.

"I need to explain."

Molly shook her head, trying to block his presence out, "I just need some space."

Sherlock took a step towards her, "Space isn't going to fix anything, you need to talk to me and stop pretending that time is going to make this better. We both know that, Molly."

Molly shook her head vigorously, trying to stop her tears from falling, "I trusted you."

"Molly, please, let me explain." Sherlock pleaded, hurt etched on his face because Molly's trust in him was shattered because of his actions.

"Don't pretend you're hurt because I know you don't care." Molly spit out, infuriated.

"Why would you say such a thing?" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Because your actions speak louder than words."

"But you don't know the whole truth."

Molly took a deep breath, then stared at him coldly, "Then, tell me everything. What happened?"

**Two hours later:**

"Please tell me you did not just say what I thought you said" Molly whispered.

"That depends…what did you think I said?" Sherlock whispered back.

"You said you ….you love me."

"I did. And I mean it. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but it did."

Feeling confused, Molly rubbed her eyes, "I don't know what to say."

"I'll do whatever you want." Sherlock added quickly.

"I don't know what I want." Molly shrugged, "I hate that I still love you."

Sherlock smiled tenderly, touching her cheek with his injured fingers. "And I love that I have always been in love with you. I am just scared."

"Of what?" Molly asked, enjoying the touch of his fingers on her cheek and leaning further into it.

"Losing you." Sherlock's voice cracked.

Molly averted his eyes and stared at her hands. When she didn't reply, Sherlock couldn't stop himself from asking, "You still love me, right?"

Molly raised her brown eyes to meet his blue ones, then she tentatively said, "I will always love you."

**Next morning (Molly's house):**

Molly woke up at 6:00 AM to find Sherlock still lying next to her, his left arm draped over her middle. She smiled softly and opened her mouth to speak but he beat her to it, "Will you marry me, Molly?"

"It's too early for this, just go back to sleep." Molly chided him gently, though she couldn't stop the hope and warmness that spread in her heart.

* * *

**Six months later (Molly and Sherlock's Wedding Day):**

"You hurt her, I shoot you, okay?" Ghost-Mary threatened Sherlock teasingly, staring at him in the mirror, where he was adjusting his tie.

"I miss you, but then I remember that you were an assassin who actually shot me in the chest and the feeling fades." Sherlock laughed heartedly, though his heart still ached whenever he saw his dear friend.

* * *

**Six years later:**

"But, daddy, I don't want to eat my vegetables", 5-year-old Cassandra Holmes whined to her father.

"I'd rather do a lot of things than eat my vegetables, too, bumblebee, but you have to do it. Nothing is going to change that, young lady." Sherlock said gently.

Cassandra pouted adorably before she sighed dramatically, two traits she proudly inherited from her father, then she started eating her vegetables. Sherlock kissed his daughter's forehead then glanced up to watch his wife walking out of their bedroom. Sherlock stood up and walked to Molly, wrapping his arm around her shoulder lovingly.

"Out of all the things you could have said, and you went with that." Molly smiled at her husband.

"She needs to know the struggle is real." Sherlock smiled back, before getting on his knees to place a kiss on Molly's growing belly.

* * *

**Two years later:**

"I didn't ever think we'd be here, like this." Molly whispered to Sherlock, both taking their seats in the school's theatre before the beginning of the play their daughter was participating in.

"Me neither, but here we are; watching Cassie participating in her first school play." Sherlock whispered back, taking Molly's hand in his and kissing her wrist tenderly.

"And hoping our twin boys don't tire their Nana before we return home." Molly laughed.


	6. You are my Bluebird

**Day 6: Huddling for Warmth**

* * *

"I miss you." Molly whispered, her face red from the cold wind slapping her face, while she was standing in front of Sherlock Holmes' fake gravestone.

To the whole world, Sherlock Holmes was a fraud and a criminal who preferred to take him own life rather than face the consequences of his actions. But to Molly Hooper, along with some very few selected individuals, Sherlock Holmes was very much alive, travelling around the world in order to infiltrate Moriarty's criminal network and to clear his own name.

Another blow of the cold wind hit Molly's face harshly, and Molly tightened her coat around her petite body.

_His. His coat._

She kept reminding herself. It was Sherlock's Belstaff that she was wrapped inside, not hers. And though she felt a pang of guilt for using his coat without his permission, she couldn't stop herself from basking in the warmth that spread through her body and soul whenever she wrapped herself in the dear coat of her dear Sherlock. Maybe to everyone else, that coat was only a garment, but to Sherlock, it was a valuable piece of him, and Molly would give anything to have a piece of Sherlock with her, even if it was only his coat and even if it was engulfing her.

Molly sighed deeply, gazing at the shiny black gravestone as if willing it to disappear, as if willing it to summon Sherlock back. God, how much she has missed him!

With another sigh, Molly leaned forward to place her hand on the top of the gravestone. She knew that Sherlock wasn't really buried there, but despite that, the gravestone meant that Sherlock was still out there, fighting against the remnants of Moriarty's network on his own, moving from one town to another and from country to another, wishing to come back to his old life and his beloved London.

"_And to me?"_ Molly thought wistfully. It was a deep thought that she never dared to say it out loud, even in the sanctuary of her own home.

Another blow of the sharp wind dragged Molly out of her thoughts. She quickly adjusted the over-sized coat around her much smaller form, before she turned around and walked towards the main road.

But what Molly wouldn't give if she knew that another soul was watching her from behind the trees, glad that he has left a small piece of him to keep her warm until his return?

* * *

**Two years later:**

Though the party Sherlock theoretically threw in his flat to celebrate Mary and John's engagement (and to make up for ruining their proposal night) was near its end, Sherlock was not ready for the day to end, too.

Mrs. Hudson has already excused herself, declaring it was time for her herbal soothers and beauty sleep. Next, Greg said his goodbyes to everyone. John and Mary stayed for a little longer, chatting with Molly and Sherlock and discussing what would be the prefect date for their wedding.

Half an hour later, John and Mary announced that it was time to go home, and they asked Molly if they would drop her off on their way home.

"That would be love-" Molly started.

"I will take Molly home. No need to concern yourself." Sherlock interrupted Molly, typing on his phone.

"Are you sure? Molly's house is on our way anyway, and it is getting late." John said while wearing his jacket.

Sherlock glanced at Molly, who was sitting on the couch and staring at him in confusion, trying to decipher why he would say that, before he looked at John and said, "Yes, I am. I will take Molly home. You can go."

"Molly?" John turned to ask Molly again, tilting his head to the side.

Sherlock glanced at Molly again, this time with a nervous look, as if willing her to accept his invitation. Not understating why Sherlock would want her to stay any longer, but still curious to find out, Molly cleared her throat then turned her eyes to John and Mary and said with a smile, "It is okay, Sherlock can take me home later, but thanks for offering."

"Alright, then. Have a good night." John shrugged, before taking Mary's hand and leaving the flat. Silently, Sherlock stood up from his chair, walked to the window, and gazed through it. Behind him, Molly waited patiently.

Two minutes later, Sherlock watched John and Mary driving away in their car, then he turned around to face Molly. The stare contest lasted for twenty seconds before Molly decided to end it.

"So, did you want to tell me something?" she asked tentatively.

"Actually, yes." Sherlock replied, a little bit nervous, which Molly noticed immediately.

"Sherlock, is something wrong?"

"No, I just…. There is something I wanted to give you."

"O...okay." Molly murmured.

"Just a moment." Then quickly, Sherlock ducked into his bedroom before closing the door behind him.

Three minutes later, Sherlock emerged from his bedroom and walked straight to where Molly now stood beside his leather chair.

"Close your eyes." He demanded.

"Excuse me?"

"Close your eyes." He repeated impatiently.

Molly narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"_Not good, Sherlock. Where are your manners?"_ John's voice echoed in Sherlock's mind palace.

Sherlock remembered his magic word, which he said with a small smile, "Please."

Reluctantly, Molly closed her eyes, still curious about the meaning of Sherlock's strange behaviour. Eyes still closed, Molly could hear him moving around her, and then suddenly, she felt his breath at the back of her neck.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked in a low voice, not sure what to do now.

"Keep your eyes closed, please." Sherlock mumbled.

Doing as he said, Molly kept her eyes closed, clenching her fists into the fabric of her jumper nervously.

Several moments later, Molly heard a snap behind her. Holding her breath in anticipation, she exhaled soundly. But before she could utter another word, she felt the coolness of something metallic against her neck and collar bone. She gasped at the sudden sensation, taking an involuntarily step backwards, colliding her back with Sherlock's chest.

"Sherlock, what-?" Molly asked breathily.

"One more moment." Sherlock commented in a low voice. Molly felt cool fingertips touching the nape of her neck lightly before she heard Sherlock's whisper against her ear. "Now, open your eyes, Molly."

Slowly, Molly opened her eyes, and she glanced down, staring at the cold object that touched her skin a few moments ago, startling her. To her utter surprise, it was a necklace. Without a word, Sherlock gently put his hands on Molly's shoulders, urging her to turn right, positioning her in front of the mirror that stood at the top of his fireplace. In the mirror, both Molly and Sherlock stared at the necklace around Molly's neck, or more specifically, staring at the exquisite pendant that was now nestled against Molly's upper sternum.

"A bluebird necklace?" Molly murmured.

"Yes." Sherlock simply answered, his hands still on Molly's shoulders.

"But, why?"

"Because I have seen you."

Molly's eyes snapped to meet his in the mirror.

"I don't understand." Molly shook her head in confusion.

"I have seen you in the graveyard, in a cold windy day. You were wearing my Belstaff; the one I left in your flat before leaving."

Molly gasped in surprise, then lowered her eyes in embarrassment.

Slowly but steadily, Sherlock raised his right hand from Molly's shoulder and lifted her chin in order to meet her eyes in the mirror.

"You wrapped my coat around yourself for warmth. With every sharp blow from the wind, you would tighten it around your body like a shield." Sherlock continued, his thumb drawing small circles on Molly's shoulder.

"I am sorry, I didn't mean to-"Molly stammered, her cheeks already pink from embarrassment that he caught her wearing his coat.

"_What would he think now? That I am a teenager?_" Molly thought.

Sherlock shook his head quickly, moving his hand from her chin to her lips to silence her. Molly swallowed nervously, staring at him in the mirror. She felt dizzy, her mind trying to cope with the unexpected situation, while her body was humming for being close to the man she loved.

"I was happy that I left a part of me to keep you warm, to keep you safe." Sherlock said.

"I- I don't know-"Molly tried to form a coherent sentence but failed.

"I am not angry at you. I was happy I left behind a memory of me to keep you company until I come back to you."

"Come back to me?" Molly whispered in astonishment, watching him in the mirror.

"Surely you know by now, my dear Molly."

Sherlock placed both hands on Molly's shoulders and turned her around to face him. He cupped her face in his palms before he leaned forward and muttered, "You were the secret Moriarty knew nothing about. You were my secret, but not anymore." And then he leaned further to place a gentle kiss on Molly's lips. For a moment, Molly was so shocked she didn't reciprocate, but as Sherlock's lips urged hers to open up for him, she raised her hands to cup the nape of his neck before she returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm.

As the lack of air became dizzying, they ended the kiss, resting their foreheads against one another. They both took several deep breaths, and it was Molly who leaned backwards first to gaze at Sherlock's eyes. The curiosity was eating her up.

"Why a bluebird?" Molly asked, glancing at the necklace around her neck.

"Oh, my dear Molly, don't you know?" Sherlock smiled kindly.

"Know what?"

"Bluebirds always huddle for warmth in winter." Sherlock explained, "Just like you and my Belstaff." He added with a chuckle.

"Really?" Molly smiled widely.

"Yes. Eastern bluebirds may huddle together in a tree cavity or hollow log in groups up to ten." Sherlock said, matter-of-factly.

"Ten?" Molly asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, I don't like to share. So only the two of us will be enough." Sherlock laughed.

* * *

6 days down, 1 to go.


End file.
